A Day In the Life of Perlmutter
by KateFaulkner24
Summary: The life and times of New York's most sarcastic coroner... And everyone else is an idiot. (Spoilers through 5x10 "Significant Others")
1. Can I Have My Lunch?

**Title:** A Day in the Life of Perlmutter- Can I Have My Lunch?  
**Rating:** K+  
**Characters:** Sidney Perlmutter  
**Disclaimer:** Andrew Marlowe, the creator and writer of Castle, is the person I want to be when I grow up. And I'm thankful that he lets us all play with the toys in his toybox.  
**Author's Note:** Can you believe there are NO fictions that have Perlmutter in them? I think, by far, he is my favorite guest starring character EVER. I mean, he's hilarious. He's got the most tact and one of the sharpest wits, and if Lanie wasn't the ME, I would LOVE to see more Perlmutter. Really, I love him. Arye Gross is the master of the deadpan. So, once I found out that ME Perlmutter was getting no love in the fiction department, I thought I would take a venture into his world for a moment or two. You know, just 'cause. I hope I get it right, but if I don't… well, I tried. Here's a snapshot of our favorite cantankerous cadaver caretaker, Dr. Sidney Permutter. (If people like this, I might write a few more as the season progresses.)  
**Summary:** Some people don't know how to pick up on things. (Spoilers 5x04 "Murder He Wrote")

* * *

All he wanted to do was eat his sandwich. That's it. All he wanted was his wife's egg salad sandwich on rye, washed down with a bottle of Evian water and a fresh cookie or two. Was that so hard to ask? When bodies hit the floor and there was a bullet in someone's brain, the body wasn't going anywhere until he got there anyway. TOD doesn't change. So that's it. All he wanted was ten to fifteen of peace and quiet without some yay-hoo disrupting his digestive process.

Did he get that? No. Absolutely not, and he stared in deep annoyance at his very unwelcome guests in the mortuary. "Do you think I care who Beckett's boyfriend is?"

But of course, both Detectives Ryan and Esposito were knee deep in solving this stupid murder that wasn't even in their jurisdiction, and managing to push his buttons with something that was in no way, shape or form either his concern or his care. Apparently, they thought that, if Lanie didn't squeal on some non-existent "significant other", they thought he would. "C'mon, Perlmutter. You know as well as I do that Beckett's love life is our priority when it comes to her safety. I mean, this guy could be some pothead junkie ready to shank her or something."

"The only priority I have sitting in front of me is my egg salad sandwich, Esposito," he scowled. Can't they see he just wanted to be left alone?

"Perlmutter, do you have a life outside these walls?" asked Ryan, gesturing with his pen to the obvious four corners. "You know, girlfriend, wife, live-in-partner-that-keeps-the-light-on? You know, someone alive, rather than dead? Because if you have somebody, me and Espo would feel a lot better if you confirmed that… and anything you might know about Beckett within the past few weeks."

Irish never settled anything without throwing down the gauntlet, but when it came down to it, German engineering was something of a force as well. Perlmutter was about ready to explode. What did a guy have to do to get a lunch break in peace? "How's this?" he gestured them closer with his finger, and when they were within ear shot, he continued. "When I know something about Beckett, I'll let you know… that I want to be left the heck alone. Get out of my morgue, gentlemen," and he lowered his voice. "Before I call security."

Perlmutter almost chuckled as they shot him a few disgusted looks and ran out of the room, whether because they knew they weren't getting anywhere, or something else… that, he didn't know. Oh well. Good riddance.

He shook his head and took a big bite out of his sandwich. Why'd they ask him such a dumb question anyway? Beckett was clearly with the writer now. Any person with a brain could see that from the way they were looking at each other recently. Heck, he'd known and he'd only seen them ogle each other once in the morgue since Beckett's suspension was lifted.

"Idiots," he murmured, and finished his sandwich.


	2. What? Again?

**Title:** A Day In the Life of Perlmutter- What? Again?  
**Rating:** K+  
**Characters:** Sidney Perlmutter  
**Disclaimer:** Andrew Marlowe, the creator and writer of Castle, is the person I want to be when I grow up. And I'm thankful that he lets us all play with the toys in his toy box.  
**Author's Note:** I was presumptuous to think that there were no fictions about Sidney Perlmutter. Forgive me for that. But I was also pleasantly surprised by how many people LIKED my little fiction about him. Many asked for more, and I guess it's my prerogative to give more. I'm pretty sure there are other stories here and there. I haven't mined all of his sarcastic comments yet. So, here's the next one. It didn't really come out the way that I wanted it to, but hey, I tried. And I just found out that Perlmutter's in "The Final Frontier"! YAY! I am a happy girl.  
**Summary:** What's it to him if Castle might be a murderer? (5x05 "Probably Cause", spoilers for the promo)

Very few things surprised Dr. Sidney Perlmutter, and those that did would have to be… yeah, they had to be something completely unexpected. For example, that zombie case last year, when the "dead" came to life again. How the heck was he supposed to expect that one? He was used to his bodies being cold and unresponsive for crying out loud. Normally, the dead don't talk, move, feel or anything of the kind, just how he liked it. If the living took a page out of the dead's book, then maybe he wouldn't have so many problems with them. But life never went according to that did it? Instead, he spent his time with scalpels, stainless steel pans for organs and other gruesome goodies, and the normally undisturbed silence of a disinfected space.

Perlmutter didn't normally flinch. Not a smidge, and certainly not at the internals and externals of human corpses. He'd arrived first on the scene to so many accidents, murders, and freaky things to keep him immune to regular shock value for the rest of his life. So, when he first heard that Richard Castle might have had a hand in the next case, he didn't raise an eyebrow or bat an eyelash. "He's accused of murder? Again?"

Dr. Lanie Parrish nodded, inspecting the fingernails of their victim. "Looks that way."

"What does that make, three times now?"

"Something like that. He didn't do it."

Perlmutter rolled his eyes and scrubbed in. "No, he couldn't have. He's not that stupid."

That seemed to honestly surprise her. She glanced at him with warm brown eyes and smiled. "Why Perlmutter, I didn't know—"

"He's not that smart either."

She chucked. "Well, whatever he did or didn't do, it's our job as M.E.'s to clear him of all charges. Do you think you can handle that?"

"Dr. Parrish, innocent or guilty, I do my job. I accept the bodies, I do autopsies on the bodies, I store the bodies. Makes no difference who gave me the bodies in the first place."

"Thank you, Perlmutter," said Lanie, and she gave him one of those smiles that he hated from people: knowing. What the heck was that? Some kind of reverse psychology crap? And why did Dr. Parrish have to give him that sugary sweet stuff? He always felt guilty for it if he didn't do what she asked. She was a fellow colleague, and certainly had the skills and expertise to prove her brilliance, but as much as he honored and respected her as a co-worker, he hated guilt trips. He really hated psychology.

He shook his head. "And if you ask me, it's about time he got arrested. He's been disturbing the peace for years now."

"Mmhmm," she murmured, clearly not paying any attention. He hated when she did that.

Perlmutter slapped on a pair of gloves and frowned, annoyed. Stupid writer. Why did he have to stick his nose into everything? It's bad enough he follows Beckett around everywhere, but after a while, the puppy dog routine was really embarrassing. Who else has second-rate novelists shadowing expert detectives in their cities? And not to mention the times Castle had intentionally visited the morgue just to annoy him with mundane questions about the autopsy reports or if Perlmutter wanted to go to a book signing. A book signing? There were plenty more bodies to inspect and murderers to catch, and he's worried about a book signing?

"Stupid writer," he muttered, and took note of the rope patterns etched in the body's skin. "Serves him right if he's the killer."


	3. The Rodeo Clown

**Title:** A Day In the Life of Perlmutter- The Rodeo Clown  
**Rating:** K+  
**Characters:** Sidney Perlmutter  
**Disclaimer:** Andrew Marlowe, the creator and writer of _Castle_, is the person I want to be when I grow up. And I'm thankful that he lets us all play with the toys in his toybox.  
**Author's Note:** If you could see my face, it would be a sad one, because there is no _Castle_ on tonight. Oh well. I guess that means I should update my fanfiction about Dr. Perlmutter to compensate :) Oddly enough, this installment came to me when I was taking a mini vacation last weekend. Hey, you got to start somewhere… And yes, we will occasionally flash back in time every once in awhile, since I would like to update this fiction as the season rolls on. I think that would make for an interesting set-up. But every once in awhile, even Perlmutter will think back to some of the cases he's done to provide filler here and there. This one didn't turn out exactly the way I wanted it to… I had to read this a few times to really get it the way I wanted it. Eh, we'll have to figure it out.

**WARNING:** I'm going to say it right here: due to the promo picks of "Final Frontier" (5x06), I believe Castle is innocent in "Probable Cause". No way would Gates allow Caskett to work together if he was a murderer. So, I'm playing on that.

**Summary:** Just when you think the world was sane… In steps the rodeo clown. (Spoilers through promos of 5x05 "Probable Cause")

* * *

Perlmutter liked homeostasis. The more things stayed the same, the more he liked it. The steady pattern of new body in, autopsy done, the now old body out to make room for new bodies, that's the easy pace he liked to keep. The more he stayed safe and sound in his morgue, doing what he did best, the better off he felt about the world around him. There existed enough issues and problems in the chaotic place known as New York City to drive one insane, and the more all that stayed out of his way, the happier he felt. Then again, if it wasn't for that same brand of anarchy, he would be out of a job. Oh, the irony.

Irony? What the heck? Since when did he sound like Castle?

"Hey, Perlmutter!"

He paused and scowled through his goggles, switched the sternal saw off that he'd been using for his cadaver de jour, the unlucky stiff of a median sternotomy. The poor sap on the table had a small, unidentified growth in his lungs, and the coroner couldn't place what caused it. But, of course, at the moment he had the time to, you know, actually WORK, in pops the world's most annoying scribbler, whose novels could pass as cheap written porn. "Castle, can you not see the dead guy in front of me?"

Castle grinned, an irritating mix of bemusement and cheekiness that Perlmutter couldn't stand. "Hey, I heard you got the big news."

"Yeah, yeah, somehow, you got away with murder," he muttered. He turned the saw back on. "Go away, I'm busy."

"Oh come on, Perlmutter. Don't tell me that you're bitter about it."

"Castle, get out of my morgue."

"Well, technically, isn't it Lanie's morgue? She's your boss, right?"

"Castle!"

"What? I'm just saying, there's got to be some sort of chain of command here. Lanie's on top, and you're on the bottom…" He stopped. "Ok, that sounded bad… Look, we don't get to see you very often, and that kind of makes me sad. Thinking of you puttering away down here in the dark, cold basement of the M.E.'s office makes me think of vampires. Or Frankenstein's lab, or something. You know, lots of body parts and all that? Anyway, you don't get out much, do you?"

_What the heck?_ Typical Castle logic: he makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. He didn't know when to shut up either. "Castle, don't you have some classic to plagiarize or something?"

He shrugged. "Nah. I wanted to talk, see how you were doing, how's the weather, how's the wife… hopefully get some autopsy reports for Beckett…"

"You'll get them when I'm done with them, and until I slice open the grateful dead here, I'm not going to finish! Now, leave me alone!"

"Alright, alright! Wow, don't have a Krabby Patty," said the writer, palms outward against his chest. "I'll wait. Besides, Beckett is riding with Esposito to shake down a witness at the moment. " Castle's eyes got a faraway look in them. "Wish I was there…"

This was ridiculous. "Look, I don't have time to babysit, so why don't you go wait for your girlfriend at her desk?"

Castle's eyes widened. "…What?"

Perlmutter switched the saw off. "Oh, please, you practically attacked her on the elevator this morning."

"I didn't do—"

"Do I have to explain myself in detail, or did you just conveniently get selective amnesia?"

"…Nothing is going on with Beckett and me. Nothing more than there was yesterday."

"...Don't get me started on yesterday." He felt as disgusted as his face showed.

Castle swallowed hard and tensed, his stance as stiff as a flagpole. "Beckett and I are just partners. We're friends."

The coroner rolled his eyes. "Look, I don't care what you two are, what you do, where you do it or how you do it. Heck, I don't even care why, as long as it isn't in my morgue. Which I will tell you, again, to get out of. NOW. Before I file a police report."

Castle hesitated, looking wary but slightly more relieved than he had been a minute ago. "Ok… but just so we're clear… I'll stay out of your morgue if you don't tell anybody? Right?"

Blackmail. This was something he hadn't thought of, but hey, if the shoe fit… "Yes, Castle, I won't tell Gates if you stay out of my way. Got it?"

"Roger," replied Castle, and saluted his way out the door. "Over and out."

When could the mayor get him out of the precinct? Good night, this was getting worse than a rodeo clown at a three ring circus… Perlmutter flipped on the saw and sighed. "Finally."

Two minutes. It took two minutes. "Hey Perlmutter?"

"Oh crap..." _Fire me, someone just fire me… or fire him, so I can work in peace!_


	4. The Pep Talk

**Title:** A Day in the Life of Perlmutter- The Pep Talk  
**Rating:** K+  
**Characters:** Sidney Perlmutter  
**Disclaimer:** Andrew Marlowe, the creator and writer of Castle, is the person I want to be when I grow up. And I'm thankful that he lets us all play with the toys in his toybox.  
**Author's Note:** OH MY GOODNESS, HOW AWESOME IS PROBABLE CAUSE!? If I could give more than 5 stars, I'd probably rate it five billion. I loved it tonight, and it made me get in the mood for a little bit more _Castle_ shenanigans with the wonderful Dr. Perlmutter and Mr. Castle.  
**Summary:** What? A heart to heart with Castle? (Spoilers through 5x05 "Probable Cause").

* * *

"He died of a heart attack. That's what it says. He died of a heart attack."

Usually, when one thought about the word "probation", one thought of picking up trash by the highway, or "volunteering" at a kids YMCA. One thinks of planting flowers in Central Park, and at the end of the day, submitting themselves to the humbling labor of scrubbing the toilets of the New York ACE line bathrooms with a toothbrush. Said probation, dedicated for the rehabilitation and supervision of the person carrying it out, meant a few months' worth of benefitting some social service or another, giving time and effort for the beautifying of the hearts, minds and souls of the city's people or surroundings. After all, this avoided prison, and for those who couldn't hack it in the judicial confines of a holding facility for the most heinous of criminals, one would better serve his or her time making a difference instead of getting eaten for lunch.

Which was why, in no shape or form, could Perlmutter understand why in the heck Richard Castle was in his morgue, goggles on, gloves on his hands, staring at a dead body of what the writer described as Madonna in her better years… only, with a few less female parts and a whole lot of the male variety.

Perlmutter gestured theatrically with his hand, waving it with as much fake gusto as he could. "Good, Mr. Castle, now enlighten me with the many, many years of medical school expertise that you spent so many years developing on a daily basis. Please, go ahead. Why did Mr. He/She die of a heart attack? How do you know?"

Castle flipped through the medical file he was holding, and frowned. "He had… shortness of breath, chest pains, palpitations, followed by loss of consciousness. And I'd tell you why that happened, but isn't that your job?"

He impolitely shoved Castle aside, and pointed. "You see the left coronary artery? Right there?"

"Yeah."

"What do you see?"

"The heart."

"Genius. Now, what do you really see?"

Castle pointed to the right side of the muscle, left side if it was his own heart. "There. Right by the ventricle. It's a lot darker than normal."

"That's correct. That's the necrosis that started the infarction. Muscle gets starved of oxygen, the heart can't get what it needs, and it dies." He almost smiled. "Very good, Mr. Castle. You might survive the first day of med school."

He nodded. "Thanks," he said, but without the usual humor that he so often supplied.

Perlmutter reached for his goggles and placed them on top of his head. Normally, Castle would've fired off some inane, funny guy response, but somehow, he seemed more serious. Oh well, whatever. "And here we have—"

"You ever get tired of looking at bodies as they come in?"

"No. Do you?"

"Sometimes. I mean, sometimes, it's fun, but after awhile, you start thinking they're not just some movie prop from _Texas Chainsaw Massacre_ or _The Cabin in the Woods_. They were people once. And one day, we're all going to be like them. I just hope I'm, you know, a little bit more wrinkly. And I still have my hair."

The coroner was going to regret this. "What's with you today? You normally annoy the heck out of me and then skip on out of here. Do the whole Whoopee cushion routine and wait for me to sit down. What's with you, anyway?"

"I got framed for murder."

"We've established that. And we also established that you got off. Congratulations."

"Yeah, but it was almost the perfect murder." He looked at Perlmutter with something close to awe, mixed with… fear? "There's some sick satisfaction to it, some twisted poetry in there that even I have to admit, I would have loved to write just once. If I wasn't the one going down for it, and if he didn't have the ego to gloat about it, put on a show… It would've been almost pristine." Castle weakly smiled, distant. "I joked about it, tried to make light of it that time I was in here before. I was trying to screw around like I normally do, but… this got to me. You start looking at the bodies differently and certain things get brought to your attention more than normal." He gestured to the man on the slab. "Like this guy. A few Big Macs and he ends up cut open in a morgue on a Friday night. He didn't know he was going to die and yet, here he is. And the ones who were actually murdered… same thing, except people killed them, watched them die… Some enjoyed it. And if we slip up once, or we don't follow up and do everything we possibly can to catch them… the killers will walk. They walk, while they still have blood on their hands, and the blood of some poor sap who'd go down for what they did. It's sick. It's sick that I got set up, and Tyson would've gotten away with it, and it's sick that I could actually admire that from a writer's point of view because the cashier's check, the emails, the fingerprints, everything… it was so perfect. The kind of story I would've loved to write, and then catch the dirtbag who did it."

Perlmutter hesitated, silently studying Castle's mannerisms and contemplating a reply. He'd caught glimpses of this man, someone a bit more jaded over the years, not entirely the little kid he'd been when he started out. He didn't really see him that often, but this was one of those times where he saw some maturity, some growth, to an otherwise Peter Pan-esque man-child. He'd never been good with saying stuff all sugarcoated and wonderful; such things were as much nonsense as being "tactful" and "endearing" when in his line of work, you reported the facts and didn't leave much room for fluff. But certainly now, something a bit more airy would be helpful. "Look, I don't know how to say something Hallmark-y and touching because that sounds really stupid and unhelpful. But what I do know is, you got off. Beckett believed in you. And you shot Tyson by the end of it. So, shut up and stop moping about it."

Castle smiled a bit wider, and laughed a little. "Thanks."

"I wish I'd shot him too."

"Thank you, Perlmutter."

"He deserved it, the putz. You know how many girls I had to autopsy through all of this? I should put a round where the sun don't shine, the-."

"Thanks, Perlmutter."

"Don't mention it."

"I won't."

"I just told you not to mention it. Do you need a hearing aid or something?" he rolled his eyes and sighed. "Why couldn't I have Alexis instead?"


	5. SuperNova Con My Foot

**Title:** A Day in the Life of Perlmutter- Supernova Con My…  
**Rating:** K+  
**Characters:** Sidney Perlmutter  
**Disclaimer:** Andrew Marlowe, the creator and writer of Castle, is the person I want to be when I grow up. And I'm thankful that he lets us all play with the toys in his toybox.  
**Author's Note:** I about died laughing all the way through _Castle_ tonight. I LOVED "Final Frontier" and the moment I thought about doing my next Perlmutter episode, I ran to my keyboard. He strikes me as the type who really, REALLY cares about his reputation. That's why, though this is a shorty… I couldn't think of a better chapter to add. I really, really couldn't.  
**Summary:** …Stupid writer. Stupid convention. (spoilers through 5.06 "Final Frontier")

* * *

He'll never hear the end of it. Absolutely not, not in any way, shape, or form. What respect and admiration that he received over the years from his excellent medical examiner's skills just flew right out the window. Or, as Castle would so excruciatingly add, out the airlock.

It was the stupid zombie case all over again! Perlmutter gritted his teeth, checked off the last few boxes on Ms. Collins's autopsy paperwork, and quick signed his name. He could hear the jeers now…

"Hey, Perlmutter, phaser or saber?"

"You got that thing set to stun?"

"Who shot first, Sidney?"

On and on. And on, and on, and on… And of course, Castle HAD to be right. Out of all the cases where the annoying novelist had to get it right, it HAD to be one at that stupid fan convention. As if he wasn't ingratiating enough, no, he HAD to get it right. The geek at the geekfest got it right: one laser beam to the chest. A laser beam. He had to write "energy projectile from a working replica stage prop from _Nebula 9_" on the autopsy report. Death by laser beam! On his paperwork!

His mother would die laughing. Again, he cursed the fates for receiving the weird ones. That, and the stupid writer.

"Hey, Perlmutter?"

Sidney snarled. "What do you want, Castle?"

"Got one of those special autopsy questions I want to ask you." He peeked around the door frame and grinned. "You got a minute?"

"What?"

"…If she was shot in space, would it make a sound?"

"GET OUT." There were days were he loved this job. This was not one of them. Idiot.

He was never going to live this one down. Not a bit.


	6. Christmas Kind Of

**Title:** A Day in the Life of Perlmutter- Christmas...Kind Of  
**Rating:** K+  
**Characters:** Sidney Perlmutter  
**Disclaimer:** Andrew Marlowe, the creator and writer of Castle, is the person I want to be when I grow up. And I'm thankful that he lets us all play with the toys in his toybox.  
**Author's Note:** Nope, not dead. With the holidays and some busy issues in my life, I got a little off track. And I got hit with the Anti-Muses. But, now I am back on track, and I am ready to go at this from a rather different perspective. I hope you all like this little Christmas tale. Sidney can be a little softy... when he's not saying anything. Aww. Merry Christmas!  
**Summary:** Twas a night in New York, and all through the city… (Spoilers 5x09 "Secret Santa")

Twas a night in New York,  
And all through the city,  
A body dropped from thin air,  
And made Castle quite giddy.  
On the way to the crime scene  
With hot coffee to tend,  
He wondered aloud at  
The poor sap's tragic end.  
"Maybe it was elves,  
Or a stabbing quite queer,  
Or maybe some grandma got  
Trampled by reindeer."  
"Castle, come on,"  
His muse said so sweetly,  
"Do you really think a reindeer  
Could do it discreetly?"  
And Castle sighed,  
As he dreamed the way there,  
Musing of colored lights  
And gifts wrapped with care.  
He had spoken of tradition,  
When his voice filled with dread,  
He saw the red suit,  
And cried, "Santa is dead!?"  
And all his "dreams"  
From boyhood to man,  
Flew right out the window,  
Like a snowball from hand.  
Away to the morgue  
Our writer did go,  
Past the cold road blocks  
And over the snow.  
After Lanie had gone,  
But the body was still new,  
Dr. Sidney Perlmutter,  
Took another glance or two.  
He measured the holes  
And took out the slugs,  
He sneezed and he cursed  
At his misfortune with bugs.  
And when he had done  
What little to do,  
He wished it was Christmas  
For the day off or two.  
But before he could leave  
And head on his way,  
That stupid writer appeared  
With the dumbest thing to say.  
"Santa is dead!  
Did you hear the news?  
He fell from his sleigh,  
He must have come loose!"  
"Castle, you moron,  
Santa's not real!"  
Said the coroner with  
Anger he couldn't conceal.  
"Do you have Christmas spirit?  
Do you give it an inch?  
If I didn't know better,  
You'd be a great Grinch.  
Someone who's heart  
Is three sizes too small.  
Don't you think of the children,  
How it'll affect them at all?"  
"I'm as merry as the next guy,  
But this is just stupid,  
Santa's as real as  
The Easter Bunny or Cupid.  
Now get out of my way,"  
Said Sidney with much pith.  
"I need to get home,  
To my wife," "Edith?"  
"Yes how'd you know?"  
"Well, you'd find this quite funny,  
I signed a book for her last year,  
And she's a lot more sunny  
Than you." "yes, I know,  
And if you don't mind,  
I'd like to go home to her,  
While the weather's still kind."  
"Hey, Merry Christmas,"  
Said Castle with cheer.  
"I'll see you around,  
Maybe sometime next year!"  
Perlmutter grunted  
And rolled his brown eyes,  
But he begrudgingly nodded  
At the writer he despised.  
For this was Christmas,  
The snowfallen season,  
Where even the worst pests,  
Are kindly treated with reason.


	7. Has the World Gone Insane?

**Title:** A Day in the Life of Perlmutter- Has the World Gone Insane?  
**Rating:** K+  
**Characters:** Sidney Perlmutter  
**Disclaimer:** Andrew Marlowe, the creator and writer of Castle, is the person I want to be when I grow up. And I'm thankful that he lets us all play with the toys in his toybox.  
**Author's Note:** I just got a full-time job at my work. And yet, I feel like I slack… Well, now I feel less like a slacker (shows you my priorities, don't it?).  
**Summary:** Just when he thought the world was "back to normal", it turns into the Twilight Zone. (Spoilers through 5x06 "Final Frontier", referencing 5x03 "Secret's Safe with Me")

* * *

Perlmutter walked out of the morgue, his brown wool trench coat flapping as it kept time.

Normally, this would be non-existent on working time. Beforehand, he welcomes the bodies to their temporary home, cuts them open, inspects their insides, and makes copious notes indicating TOD, COD, and other slightly more relevant acronyms. Procedure dictates that detectives, and the frequently annoying authors who tail them, come to him for autopsy results. It was Perlmutter's job to hand-off almost every medical file to that waiting police officer. After that, his line of work concluded. However, as in most cases in the busiest of cities, corpses outweighed cops two or even three to one. Or, the latest victim had some sort of relevance to active cases, previous casework or cold cases, and required special attention. Sometimes, like today, a run to the police station was crucial.

So, his arms full of some twenty lives, all of which were now resting comfortably in the confines of his morgue (lucky stiffs), he very quickly walked the few hundred feet from his workplace to the next, enjoying a slight bit of reprieve. The cold snap after Superstorm Sandy and the subsequent Christmas created a wake of barely contained silence. Nobody ventured out much; nobody dared to breathe. In the city that never sleeps, an eerie blanket of cotton-eared quiet muffled all signs of busy life, something both pleasant and awkward. The crisp air of this particular January day bit his lungs, and Sidney coughed. With waxing and waning temperatures in the sub-zero part of the scale, it proved easy to forget which day was which. He pulled his trench coat closer to his chest as best he could and continued on his way.

Life was good. Sandy left an influx of bodies, which meant many overtime hours. Idiot kids, ages "oh-my-Lord-I'm-legal" to "oh-crap-I'm-getting-old", stupidly awarded themselves with Darwin Awards for their all new levels of ignoramus, and so graciously bettered the gene pool by removing themselves from it. All and all, busy winter.

Sidney's wife, Edith, didn't mind as much when he wasn't home for dinner. That was the best part of a twenty-six year marriage to the right person: you never really questioned where the other one was late at night anymore. Bumps in the road all smoothed, she'd known that if he didn't come home, he was on a slab at the morgue… asleep, not otherwise. And she always had a piece of warm peach pie, topped with whipped cream, waiting for him on the kitchen table, with a note telling him how much she loved him and how much she was looking forward to the day he was to retire.

If she had her way, like she did most often, he'd retire today. He wanted to, some days, even in spite of his affinity for the dead, and his slightly weaker affinity for the living. But, a coroner's and part-doctor's pension was all that kept their nice New York flat from adding to an already bad housing market. Edith grew exceedingly persistent as the years went on, ever since her own retirement as Stuyvesant High School's premiere librarian two years before. What she drew in was barely enough, but they made it work financially… most of the time.

However, personally, the days where she asked him repeatedly about that "mystery writer" he worked with made him wonder which was worse: her questions or Castle's.

Perlmutter shifted the files in his arms, and nodded a curt greeting to a police officer near the 12th Precinct's door. Officer Whojamaface nodded back and opened it, letting the coroner in. At least some people had manners. Others tended to slam the door in his face, oblivious to the fact that he couldn't open the door for himself. That was the life of the coroner though. His shoes echoed against the marble floor and he pushed the button for the elevator.

The case needed was something about the Westies again. If it wasn't the run-of-the-mill idiots who ended up dead, it was always the Westies. Girl, twenty-five. Knife wounds to the torso and three that nicked the top of her left scapula and right ulna. The former he identified as the first entry point, someone's misdirected attempt of assassination from behind, or the evidence of the victim turning to face her attacker. The latter was clearly defensive. The weird part displayed itself on her skull though: deep grooves in the eye sockets, as if the killer carved out the eyes with something dull, like a flathead screwdriver. Gruesome, horrible, but perhaps something a bit more up Beckett's alley. She liked the freaky ones.

She had her pet writer monkey, right? Castle walked the line between committed puppy dog and just plain committed. He was about as freaky as one could get.

The precinct buzzed. "Watch where you're going!" he growled at a police officer, Officer Reynolds or something, some coat-decked moron with a gun. Didn't he see that Sidney was busy? Really?

A few steps more and he paused a moment or two out of habit before the Captain's door. Gates was different than Montgomery. He liked her style. Sidney never had any problems with Internal Affairs, and her distain for Castle's idiocy in the office immediately added to his affinity. Gates liked by the book, no nonsense detective work: no crass actions, no rabbit trails. Just follow the evidence and watch the events unfold. She lived to protect and serve, upholding all duties and responsibilities of the civil service, something he admired and reciprocated. He too believed in upholding the law, not pulling it and squishing it like Silly Putty, the way some certain novelists thought it worked. Sidney felt more at home with Iron Gates, and although she was technically his "superior", they'd developed a camaraderie since her institution. He found it easier to talk to her than he did with Montgomery, and their personalities didn't clash.

Sidney felt more cops could learn from her. And she commanded respect by earning it. She just made sense. Which was why, as he approached her office door and knocked, he about dropped all the files he'd been holding. He eyes boggled as he stared in her window.

Gates was on her lunch break. Her right hand gripped around a granny smith apple, it brought the fruit up to her lips and she chewed, thoughtfully. A pair of reading glasses perched on the tip of her nose, she scanned the lines in the book she held in her left, and smiled slightly. Nothing abnormal, nothing out of the ordinary to normal eyes. Gates was an avid reader. This was nothing new to anyone, however… the darkened silhouette of a woman with a gun, standing against a scarlet backdrop proved otherwise.

_Heat Wave_ by Richard Castle.

"Come in," absently replied Gates in response to his knock.

Perlmutter, still owl-eyed, walked in and closed the door behind him. "…Have you gone insane?" he blurted out. "…Sir."

Gates looked up, startled. "Excuse me?"

He pointed. "That."

"It's _Heat Wave_."

"I can see that, but what I'm not understanding is why you're reading it."

She put the book down and pulled her glasses off. "It's not bad."

"It's not good either."

"You've read it?"

"No, but I got a wife who constantly asks me for an autographed copy. She's better than a Kindle or SparkNotes."

"Well, it's certainly not Patterson or Connelly, but I assume there's some merit to it, considering it's a bestseller."

"This is Castle we're talking about. It's about as bestselling as toilet paper and just as useful."

She chuckled. "Let's just say that I have my reasons for reading this… literature. Part of knowing who's working for you is doing your research, and if I can't get him out of here, then I can at least know what he's fantasizing about. And then have enough evidence to overturn the mayor's decision."

"I can tell you what he's fantasizing about."

Gates raised an eyebrow. "And what might that be?"

"He's a man. Use your imagination."

"If it's all the same to you, Dr. Perlmutter," he loved it when someone actually called him by his title, "This _is_ Castle we're talking about. I've taken his writings with a grain of salt."

"Good. At least you don't like them. You know how many times I hear about them at home? My wife can't put them down. She asks me all the time if one of the characters is based off of me."

Gates smiled faintly. "What do you tell her?"

"That if he ever bases a character off of me and I know about it, I know twenty-six and a half ways to kill him without anyone knowing about it. And I'm pretty sure some of them are illegal." Sidney paused, and rifled through his stack of case files with one hand. "And speaking of gruesome ways of death, here's the files you were looking for, including that Westie case." He placed the Westie case on top and plopped the files on her desk. "I took the liberty of highlighting the important bits. Some of it's good reading, and a lot better than that… thing."

"I'll be sure to look forward to them." She slid a bookmark in place and placed Castle's book on her desk. "Thank you, Sidney. I appreciate your hardwork."


	8. Where We Stand

**Title:** A Day in the Life if Perlmutter- Where We Stand  
**Rating:** K+  
**Character:** Sidney Perlmutter  
**Disclaimer:** Andrew Marlowe, the creator and writer of Castle, is who I want to be when I grow up. And I'm thankful that he lets us play with the toys in his toybox.  
**Author's Note:** In light of all that happened last night, Perlmutter keeps poking my brain to tell his story. I thought I would humor him, and I don't think y'all mind.  
**Summary:** Murder made sense to him. But kidnapping didn't. (Spoilers through 5x15 "Target")

* * *

Murder made sense. The way a person dissected another person's soul from his or her body by bullet, knife, drugs or strangulation had an age-old method to the madness. Greed, money, jealousy, whatever feeling applied at the time was easily categorized and rationalized as motive. Murder made a great deal of sense. Kidnapping, however, was different. Kidnapping was another beast entirely, one he could not tame or slay as easily as an autopsy.

Alexis was smart. She was vibrant, quick, attentive, and one of the best people that he ever trained. Her kind, warm personality and exceptional intellect often made him wonder how on earth she could be the spawn of that insipid writer monkey, and through his time teaching her, he could not shake his almost parental pride and affection for the young redhead. Now, without her, the morgue seemed emptier, colder, too big and too vacant. Her absence painfully distracted him, and it was almost too hard to do the normal, daily multitasking his occupation required.

A slight knock on the door alerted him to somebody's presence and in walked a shade of the confident cop he had known for years. Her bloodshot hazel eyes and tousled hair spoke of restless, disturbed slumber, if she even grasped any sleep at all. She gave him a half-hearted smile and asked, "Find anything yet?"

Perlmutter stared at the body of Sara and Alexis's would-be savior and grimly shook his head. "No, nothing. But then again, we didn't expect to find much else. All I have is the logistics."

She sighed and ran her hands through her hair, pulling at the roots in frustration. "Great," she said. "And here I was hoping for something different."

"That's the definition of insanity you know," said Perlmutter. "Doing things the same way and expecting different results."

"I don't give a crap," she replied. "This whole thing is insanity."

"How's Castle?" Beckett looked at him sideways, steeling for her defense, and he amended his approach. "I know you two are together. You've acted differently ever since you came back from suspension. It was an observation I noticed right away."

Kate wilted, defeated. "He feels the same as you would expect. Scared of his mind. She's his baby girl, and frankly I can't blame him." She adjusted her coat and pursed her lips into a grim line. "I have to get back to the precinct. Thank you, Perlmutter, for giving this one last try."

"Detective."

"Yes?" She stopped midway through the threshold.

"If they so much as touch her, I will bury them. Right after Castle is through with them. You bring our girl home, or they will go home to their families in body bags."

Kate smiled faintly and nodded. "Thank you, Sidney."


End file.
